


Jon Snow and the Americanosi (name subject to change)

by W12_Supernatural



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Americanos (Whats west of Westeros) - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:26:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/W12_Supernatural/pseuds/W12_Supernatural
Summary: I've seen a number of fics where Jon flees to Essos, but given that I created the continent of Americanos to answer the question of whats west of Westeros, what if he fled west to Americanos.The continent is a war torn one, and Jon will learn much. He will become a legend, all instigated by the same people the Westerosi have long forgotten.
Relationships: Others to be added, To Be Decided
Kudos: 1





	Jon Snow and the Americanosi (name subject to change)

Victory should not have tasted so bitter for Catelyn. The Bastard had finally left, running off west to Americanos, the western continent. He said nothing in his farewell, made no promises. He just left. It was if the Bastard of Winterfell was now had a ghost.

She'd have been happy had Ned not been so wroth and her children so upset. Robb brooded, Arya became even more rebellious, Bran and Rickon kept asking when Jon would return. Even Sansa, who'd never had a close relationship with him, became withdrawn. Only Catelyn and Theon Greyjoy remained happy, Cat happy to see the Bastard no longer corrupt her children, Theon happy to see the Bastard gone because... well, it was Theon

Nonetheless, her victory was bitter, and she prayed to the seven he would not return. 

* * *

A moon later, a letter arrived from Westeros and it damn near broke Ned and her children.

The letter had been delivered by a clearly Americanosi man at arms. He said he'd been sent by a Lord Frost, with information that her husband may want to know. He'd been dressed in a nasal helm, mail, spear, and a circular shield that bore a red cross on it. He simply asked to see Lord Stark, and handed him a letter before leaving, clearly not wanting to stay.

 _Lord and Lady Stark,_ it read.

_My name is Brandon Frost, the Lord of Demoory and Lord Paramount of the Estenhaal. I serve the King of the Four Kingdoms, his Grace Haragon Wanasov, the First of His name._

_A moon ago some of my men found a boy, no more than thirteen or fourteen, washed up on the south coast of the Nose. I could tell he was Westerosi, clearly not a native Americanosi. I later found out it was your son._

_Initially, per my men, they thought him dead and it was only when he coughed up saltwater and looked around as if he was a madman did we realize he was alive._

_He kept telling us he had to get back to his home, to Winterfell, to his family. I know House Stark to be Lords of Winterfell, but my knowledge of Westeros is very much lacking, I must admit. It was only when he told me his name was Jon Snow did I realize he was a northern bastard. If I had to guess, a Stark bastard. He may well be yours, Lord Stark. He kept saying his father was Ned Stark, the Lord of Winterfell. Even my fool could realize the connection._

_He's a good lad, no doubt. Good with a sword, honorable, intelligent. He beat my master-at-arms with little difficulty. Unfortunately, I could not take care of him, as I am required in the Easterlands, to fight for my King. I cannot reveal any other information lest my man get intercepted._

_Thus, I sent him with a contingent west, to our neighbors the Styr. With Haragon holed up in the Valley of Nokoseov, the Styr is currently ruled by his younger brother, Teublonf Wanasov. He's a good man, excellent leader and warrior, and apparently he knows of you, Stark; he fought in Greyjoy's rebellion. I sent your bastard west with some of my men and informed Teublonf he should take the boy under his wing. Teublonf currently is in Lyallville as I write this, garnering the loyalty of other Styric lords._

_I trust Teublonf, and thus I trust your bastard is safe and healthy. He'll learn much under the man._

_All the best_

_-Brandon Frost, Lord of Demoory and Lord Paramount of the Estenhaal._

"Too many Americanosi terms," Ned had muttered upon reading the letter. He'd been angry at Catelyn, though, and had not spoken to her for a week, a similar attitude adopted by Robb and Arya. Sansa remained her shadow, and Bran and Rickon, the little boys, simply kept asking when Jon would return. Of course, Catelyn had wanted to answer never, but she knew it would break those two, so she simply said he would return soon.

* * *

Teublonf, for once, simply didn't know what to do. Frost's letter had been very confusing.

It told him of how a Northern Bastard from Westeros had washed up on the south coast of the Nose, much like how Teublonf had when returning to Americanos. But because Brandon was busy campaigning in the Easterlands, he'd sent him to Teublonf.

But Teublonf had his own issues. Namely the Styric lords. After he deposed Sento and declared Cracovia Heights was Wanasov again, he'd had to deal with the other Styric Lords, the ones who had initially declared for Robyn and Sento, and the ones who'd elected to remain neutral. The Devons, Smathers, Nyvens, and Sentos had declared for Robyn and Ventis Sento, the Lyalls, Kellys, Telcontars, had remained neutral throughout the wars that had seen the Koselkas, Briens, and Sovanens all drained of their men and resources, the southern Styr burning and the cities of Ofan and Riga under siege. Now was not necessarily the time for him to be dealing with a boy to take under his wing.

The boy, the Stark bastard, was named Jon Snow. He was polite enough, lean and lithe, curly black hair, brown eyes, and a sullen disposition. He looked around as if he was expecting Teublonf and his men to punish him if he did something he wasn't supposed to. Not Teublonf didn't blame him: If he had been a foreigner in a foreign land he would have been similarly apprehensive. Which meant he would try and make the Northern boy as comfortable as possible. Brandon had said he was a good lad, if a bit sullen. A natural swordsman and rather observant, though Teublonf knew full well that bit came from him being a Bastard. Teublonf believed Brandon Frost. He would not kill him, not punish the boy without good cause, he would take the boy under his wing, as Frost had asked. Teublonf kept his promises.

The boy sat across from Teublonf at his chambers in Cracovia Heights, tense, as if he was expecting to be reprimanded or punished. Teublonf sighed. He would make the boy something his parents, whoever they were, could be proud of, a real man.

"Ale" Teublonf indicated the tankard at the table, indicating his own mug. The boy shook his head.

"Now now, lad. No need to act so sullen, it's not your execution." Teublonf misliked the boy's tenseness. Mayhaps he wasn't used to being addressed this way. "You can speak as you wish, I'll not judge you."

"I want to go home." he couldn't have been younger than fourteen, and yet he sounded like a boy half his age. "To Winterfell." he added after Teublonf raised an eyebrow.

"Frost asked me to take you under my wing and I plan on doing that." Teublonf drummed his fingers on the table. "Whatever that means."

"I want to go home." the boy repeated. Teublonf simply shook his head.

The boy couldn't. Not when the Wars raged. Not after Teublonf had promised Frost he would. There was simply no going home. The boy would fight in these Wars, maybe die. But Teublonf would be damned if he didn't at least teach him some things. "Can't exactly do that, I'm afraid. Not when Lord Frost asked me to take you under his wing."

"And what does that mean?"

 _Is he daft?_ "Why, I'll take you as my squire, you can't be that far off the cusp of manhood, can you?" when the boy muttered that he was fourteen, Teublonf simply nodded. "And mayhaps in two years, I'll make you a knight."

The boys head snapped up. "Like the knights from the songs?"

"Songs?" then again, the boy grew up in a famous Westerosi castle. No doubt he would have been taught certain songs and legends. The Americanosi had their own, ones that varied across regions even. In the Styr, they sang of Turvos the Avenger, who avenged his father and older brother, of Robyn the Peacemaker, who rectified the mistakes of the Black Kings and brought about the Styr's golden age, and Swyl the Conqueror, who conquered near two thirds of the Americanosi continent. The Westerosi songs genuinely interested Teublonf. His time in Westeros had been cut short by two years in Essos before returning to Americanos, but he supposed the Sunrise Kingdoms had their own songs. Interesting ones, judging by the boy's reaction.

"Like Ryam Redwyne and Aemon the Dragonknight. The ones my sister Sansa loves so much. Like those songs?" Teublonf had no idea who the hell either Ryam Redwyne or Aemon the Dragonknight were, but clearly they affected the boy, to the point where he idolized them. Putting the points together, Teublonf simply nodded. 

The boy's face lit up for the first time. "And you'll teach me how to fight?" To that, Teublonf nodded. 

"Not just fight, but to lead, to command, to become a man." _War oft makes old men out of green boys_ , his father had said. Teublonf, who was only twenty-one, definitely exemplified that, as he felt much older than his years. "Experience is the best teacher, I think. And no experience teaches more than war."

The boy paled but nodded. "I never learned your name, my lord." 

"Teublonf Wanasov. And yours?"

"Jon. Jon Snow, if it please my lord."

Teublonf nodded and rapped his knuckles on the table, causing the door to open and his cousin Swyl appeared in the doorway. "Swyl will escort you to your chambers." In the Old Tongue of the Styr he added to Swyl: _"Take the boy to Haragon's old chambers. Get a servant to dress them up for him."_

If Swyl was confused or thought it was beneath him, he made no show of it. He simply nodded to Jon. "Come on now, lad. You'll be well taken care of."

"And Jon?" Teublonf added just as the two were about to leave.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Tomorrow we leave for the town of Lyallville. I will assign someone to handle you and escort you to me as we leave. Good night."

* * *

"Do you know what the hell you're doing?"

"No." Then again, Teublonf rarely did.

Swyl sighed. "You've taken a boy on as your squire despite not knowing anything about him. Are you an idiot?"

 _Yes._ "No." he repeated. Teublonf was not in the mood for this discussion.

"You trust Frost, don't you?" Teublonf simply nodded.

Swyl sighed again. "You're about to take the boy to a castle he has never been to, to a lord you've no idea will even accept you, in a land naught but foreign to him; they'll know he's a Westerosi." Along with the Kellys and Telcontars, the Lyalls had remained neutral throughout the Styric civil war and while the Kellys and Telcontars had sent missives to the Heights with pledges of fealty, pledges Teublonf had accepted without a second thought, the Lyalls hadn't. _Now is not the time for the Styr to be at war with itself, not as an ancient enemy holds sway over our south and Ventis Sento and Robyn Wanasov live no more,_ Teublonf had said. The Lyalls though had remained quiet and only recently asked to meet with Teublonf. Against his better judgement, Teublonf had agreed.

"For all we know Ventis Lyall will have the boy simply killed for being a Westerosi. His two younger brothers died in that Robert's Rebellion bollocks after journeying west for glory, so we know his attitude towards Westeros isn't the most positive one.

"Over my dead body Lyall will kill him!" Teublonf roared. He planned on protecting this Jon Snow, his squire, as much as he could. "And it won't be the two of us alone. I plan on taking a sizable detachment of Wanasov men."

"Because Ventis Lyall is Ventis Sento with a rising sun for a sigil instead of a river," Swyl smirked. "Aye, and who will run the Heights in your absence."

"Who else but Cyrus Calsarisan?" The Calsarisans were the traditional stewards of Cracovia Heights after all. Plus, they'd supported Cameron and Teublonf in the civil war, and Teublonf had half a mind to give them Paganal now that House Sento was extinct. He wouldn't yet, though. Cyrus Calsarisan, a boy of nineteen, was the head of the House following the deaths of his father Thoromar and elder brother Seil, and he would be a good steward.

Swyl nodded. "And me?"

"I need you to take another Wanasov contingent south." When Swyl raised an eyebrow, Teublonf was quick to add: "Paganal and its holdings remain in the control of Sento's vassals: The Yves, Yvers, and Messeys. Plus, what Valleymen that hadn't been killed in the massacre at Paganal were imprisoned there and I mistrust Teublonf Messey. If you wipe them out lets just say I won't punish you."

The massacre at Paganal had been one of the most egregious acts of the Styric civil war. Ventis Sento and Robyn had invited Cameron, his Valleymen wife Leonora Nokoseov, and many of the Nokoseov bannermen, to discuss peace and a potential alliance. In reality, however, Ventis, with the aid of Smathers, Nyven, and Devon men had killed most of them. A few, such as Leonora, had survived and were taken prisoner, but nearly all the Nokoseov soldiers as well as Cameron and Lyonel Nokoseov were slain. The massacre hadn't been without cost to the Sentos and their allies, though. At the very least, Ventis' son Devon and bastard half brother Nathan Plain were dead, as were Kylvis Devon (whom Teublonf was happy was dead for several reasons) and Nathan Nyven, the heir to Reg. After taking over Cracovia Heights and killing Ventis Sento and Robyn in his coup, Teublonf had taken care of all four houses on their own, taking land away and in the case of House Smathers, beheading the eldest four children of Rowena Smathers for their part in the massacre. If nothing else, it provided justice for the Valleymen who'd died because of the treachery.

Paganal itself had been seized by Ser Teublonf Messey in the aftermath of Ventis Sento's death, the Messeys along with the Yves and Yvers remained fiercely loyal to House Sento and proved to be a major roadblock for Teublonf, as it meant he could not reach Koselka or Brien along the road of Andan, and had to use ravens, though Teublonf supposed the men in Paganal shot the ravens down and had stopped after not even a week.

Swyl nodded. "I'll go seize Paganal for you and you show Lyall why you're called the Redarm." Teublonf shot his cousin a look for that, a reference to the wine stain birthmark that covered his left hand and lower left arm up to his elbow. Ignoring the look Swyl then added: "How many men do I get?"

"Three thousand spearmen and two hundred horsemen. I need you to end things as soon as you begin them, though. I can't waste any time or any good men I might need to use against the Coopers and their allies." The Coopers had allied with the Ledtowers of the Vale and Ryans of the Sutherlands to oppose the Wanasovs, and it meant there were at least sixty thousand men laying waste to the southern Styr as they spoke.

Swyl nodded and made to leave. "Very well, I shall leave Cracovia not long after you leave. Best of nights." he shut the door behind him, leaving Teublonf to his own thoughts.

What the Hell was he doing? Teublonf had no idea.

* * *

The chambers, which Swyl said belonged to Teublonf's brother Haragon, were nice and spacious, not unlike the ones he had at Winterfell.

Of course, Jon missed Winterfell. But Teublonf had been rather serious about making Jon a man, someone his father could be proud of. He would no longer be the Bastard of Winterfell. 

_You best get a good sleep, you leave in the early morning._ The knight, Swyl, had told him. Jon admittedly had no idea where they were headed, but Swyl had left after informing him a servant would be arriving to dress up the chambers, whatever that meant.

As Jon let sleep overtake him, he thought back to his family, to Winterfell, to how he might return to it a better man, more than just a bastard. He hoped Teublonf Wanasov held to his promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Never written established GoT characters (mainly OCs), so I'm nervous to see how this turns out.


End file.
